Spider-man and the Sandwich
by MoonDance-Wolf
Summary: One-shot about the short lived anticipation of eating a sandwich... better than it sounds I promise! "The man charged, attempting to grab Peter's throat, arms outstretched and fingers clawing the air in anger. "Damn," Peter mumbled throwing his sandwich, encasing and all in the air, and beginning his own attack." Please Read and Review! :D T Rating for language.


**_This was originally written as a screenplay with the prompt, "Anticipation of eating a sandwich," for my Creative Writing class, but I decided to write it as a story as well since the plot bunny just wouldn't leave me alone._**

**_I hope you like it! Please Review!_**

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It had been a long day swinging through the streets of New York when Peter Parker, better known as Spider-man when donning the iconic red and blue suit, swung down from on the roof of a jewelry store to the sandwich shop across the street. The shop was quaint, not to crowded and smelled amazing, so following his nose Peter made his way into the shop of sandwich crafters.

As he was doing so a few patrons lifted there heads to appraise the newcomer. Most of them had their heads back down in seconds, considering all the superheroes that called New York home it was no surprise they weren't impressed as Spider-man walked into the establishment.

Grabbing his old backpack from on his shoulder he slipped his wallet out of the front pocket before making his way to the food counter. The young girl there looked up at him with large green eyes and hair that reminded him of Gwen's, bright and blonde. But he could tell this girl had no were near as much confidence as Gwen considering the way she was nervously fidgeting behind the counter.

"M-may I help you… um sir?" The girl stuttered, obviously nervous to be in the "vigilante's" presence. But Peter ignored the nervousness, smiling involuntarily at her before remembering she couldn't see his face behind the mask, so instead he lifted his head to eye the menu.

"Hmmm," he hummed before deciding on a sandwich, "I'll have a Cuban, with extra cheese if you don't mind," he supplied, handing her the $4.50 she requested of him.

As the girl retreated to make his sandwich, Peter began to twitch and fidget solicitously, eager to eat after a rough day of fighting crime, and straightening up as the girl appeared with his sandwich. It was wrapped in foil and shinning in the light as if it was a gift straight from heaven, taking the sub gingerly his mouth watered at the prospect of eating it.

"Thank y~" Peter began to say before being interrupted by an alarm sounding behind him. Slowly he turned, apprehensive of what he was about to see, his eyes landing on the jewelry store across the street and honing in on the two men vaulting through the freshly shattered window.

Sighing in defeat he began his trek across the avenue with slumped shoulders and a sandwich clutched in his hand. Delicately he made his way through the window, crunching glass as he went and made it into the store behind the oblivious robbers ransacking it.

"Seriously guys, in broad daylight? Are you more stupid than your occupation suggests?" Spider-man asked with a sigh, startling one of the men and resulting in the loud bang of a gun and a bullet whizzing past his sandwich by mere inches.

"Hey man, that's my lunch!" he whined, dodging the next bullet, this one passing near his left leg.

"Stay back you freak!" The man screamed aiming his gun at Peter's torso.

"Awe, that really hurts me feelings man," Spider-man pretended to sob, "I t-think I might start to cry…" he wept before cracking up, "Yeah right, I don't care what you think!" He chortled, suddenly flashing out his unoccupied hand and blasting him with some webs, effectively plastering the thief to the wall.

"Fuck! Frank get over hmmmph," the man began to scream before being cut off by webbing.

" You know, it's rude to scream like that in public," Peter began before being interrupted by his spider-sense telling he should duck right, so he did, and just in time as a few bullets flew past her left ear.

Swiveling around he shot webbing into the barrel of the gun, the assailant decided to hurtle the now useless hunk of metal at Peter's head. Ducking Peter sighed, all throughout this he had been able to keep hold of his precious cargo, his Cuban sandwich.

The man charged, attempting to grab Peter's throat, arms outstretched and fingers clawing the air in anger. "Shit," Peter mumbled throwing his sandwich, encasing and all in the air, and beginning his own attack.

Bringing his now free arm in a wide arc, he brought it across the thugs face with a loud, "smack!" Using his momentum, he continued to turn while swinging his opposite leg and swiveling on the other he swept it under the thugs legs, making a complete 360 in the process. And just as the robber dropped like a sack of potatoes, Peter reached up and caught his precious sandwich.

Smiling under the mask at his good catch, he started to unwrap the poor, abused Cuban sandwich. The smell wafted up to his nose, making his mouth water and he was positive he couldn't wait to eat it, but just before he could lift his mask over his mouth to take a bite a loud bang interrupted the silence and admiration of the masterpiece that was his sandwich.

The source of the noise, a bullet, pierced through said masterpiece, ripping through the moist white bread and splattering all of it's contents on the floor before continuing it's journey only to find it's end in the far wall.

Peter stood there, dumbfounded, until reality crashed back down on him as the officer yelled, "Freeze vigilante! Put your hands on your head!"

"Are you kidding me?" Peter griped, "That was my lunch!" he yelled exasperated.

"Don't make me tell you again," the sandwich killer threatened, "Put your hands on your head!"

Sighing Peter lifted his hands, but not to surrender, to shoot the gun out of the officers hand, meanwhile making his escape out the window, the destroyer of pure bliss hot on his heels and yelling for back-up. But they wouldn't catch him, Peter was already swinging away, cursing the annihilator of his joy.


End file.
